


Folie à Deux

by boothangg



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Backstory, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Gore, John is insane, M/M, Murder Husbands, Prostitution, So is Bane, Torture, Underage Prostitution, but that's a given
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boothangg/pseuds/boothangg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Blake is another mask. But before John Blake and before Gotham, there was Bane. </p><p>AU where John met Bane when he was working at a brothel, and later became the insane and beloved lover of our favorite monster.<br/>Done for <a href="http://tdkr-kink.livejournal.com/1025.html?thread=%20884993#t884993">this prompt</a> at the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the super long delay!! I'll post the rest of the parts as soon as I finish editing them.

_You weren’t expecting me, were you?_

He finds the dead boy lying in the sewers and knows that the plan will soon be put in action. He feels excitement and impatience rising in his throat; he’ll finally be with Bane again. He does his duty as a cop and files a report on the body, but he knows the police force won’t bother to investigate an unknown orphaned boy.  
After the Harvey Dent Act, the GPD has grown fat and lazy. It only worsens the rot in Gotham and he’s glad the city will be purged of its stink soon. 

He hates this place. He hates the citizens’ willingness to become blind and accept ignorance with open arms, he hates Foley’s determination to overlook what’s right in front of his face, he hates the rich’s pretentious arrogance and the poor’s pathetic helplessness. But he hates being away from Bane most of all. He aches to be back in his arms again.

:::

Everything started with Bane. He doesn’t like to think of the time Before – Before Bane doesn’t even matter anyway. But he likes to remember the day he first met him. 

He was in _that_ room and Bane was the first for the day. The man – monster – stepped through the door, and his eyes widened and his throat tightened when he saw the sheer size of him. He gripped the silk sheets around him and refused to let fear appear on his face. 

On the bed, he made himself look as alluring as possible as the monster’s heavy boots strode across the floor in loud _thunks_. When he stood before him, the monster stroked a finger down from his temple to his lips and tilted his chin with his coarse fingers. The monster rubbed his lips with his thumb and looked intently at his face, but he refused to balk from the man’s scrutiny and did his best to keep eye contact. 

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the monster made huffing noises that he realized was laughter, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. “You are a fierce one,” he said. Light danced across his mask with the movement of his mouth. The monster’s voice sounded distorted from the mask and had a peculiar accent that he’d never heard before. “But you are young.”

Was he? He had never thought of himself as young. He had stopped being young a lifetime ago.

 _A gunshot rang out. It sounded like the fireworks he saw on Christmas day. One, two. A body fell._

The monster assessed him. He tensed, wondering for a moment if he was going to be sent back. It wouldn’t bode well if he did. He’d seen what happened to the boy who used to occupy the room next to his after he was refused and returned.

But the monster continued. “No matter,” he said. “A man’s needs are simple. And I only wish for company.” He moved to lie on the bed with him and laid his head on his lap. “What is your name?” he asked.

“…Songbird,” he said. He hated that name. He knew he had had another one, but he had forgotten what it was along with his youth. But the monster accepted his answer.  
“Then, my little bird, could you sing a tune for me?” 

So he began singing the beginning lyrics of a song he had heard over the radio. The monster didn’t touch him.  
Later, he would scoff when he realized how far the monster – Bane – was from “simple”.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but the next one will be much longer. Feedback is always welcome!

_But I’m here._

Bane came again the next day and had the same request. This soon became a regular occurrence; Bane would rent an hour or two with him nearly every day and he would always tell him to sing him a song. He soon began to look forward for the monster’s visits. They gave him a brief respite for the rest of the day, and Bane gave surprisingly good company.

Bane gave him another request three weeks after their arrangement. He pillowed his head on his lap and told him to sing as usual. He closed his eyes as the boy’s voice lulled him to relaxation.

“You have a beautiful voice,” Bane said when he had finished. His body was loose and his eyes were closed indolently. 

“Thank you,” he said, and let a small smile curl in his lips. So many others had told him that, and he had always plastered a fake smile while he’d felt sick inside, but Bane was different. He wasn’t like those other men who clawed and stole away every little bit of him.

Bane opened his eyes and held his gaze. “Tell me a story, little bird,” he said.

He frowned and halted his hands from tracing the contours of Bane’s mask. He didn’t know any stories.  
Bane’s brows lifted in surprise when he admitted as such. “No stories at all?” he asked. “Not even one about how you became trapped in your cage?” 

When he sensed that the boy wasn't going to be forthright, he continued, “Then I will tell you one for the song you gave me. Have you seen the stars, little bird?” Bane seemed to smile behind the mask when he nodded. “The stars hold so many different stories. There is one about a corrupt and foolish queen who paid with her daughter and her life for daring to play with the gods…” 

Bane was a beautiful storyteller. Every word he spoke and every gesture he made captivated him. The details were so vivid he thought he could see, taste, feel, smell the wondrous world Bane created. This soon became a routine—a story was traded for a song. He soon came to love these hours with the seemingly monstrous man. He wondered if the feeling that rose and bubbled in his throat whenever Bane took him on another glorious adventure was happiness.

But everything changed two months after their first meeting.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bane gives John a courting gift.

_And you will die._

He finds the Commissioner too late. He’s already surrounded by the GPD, and he hears Foley barking orders in his phone to get the medic to arrive quicker. He curses at his failure, but heads toward the crowd of police officers to maintain his cover.

Gordon knows too much. He finds out what hospital the Commissioner is staying in and makes plans.  
But a few hours later, he receives a text from an unknown number. _Keep him alive. We need him to draw out the Bat._ He burns the phone before throwing it away in a nearby public waste disposal. 

:::

No matter how terrifying he looked, there were far worse monsters than Bane. Some were sickeningly sentimental and lingered their touches on every part of his body. Others were rough and spat at him, spewing disgusting words out of their twisted mouths. He would always distance himself away from it all, remembering Bane’s stories, his smiling eyes and compliments after a song. 

But sometimes it hurt too much to ignore.

This is a very important client, Madame had snapped. Don’t mess up, boy. He hated her. And he hated the beast grunting above him and slobbering drool all over his face. 

“Fucking little bitch,” the beast grunted. He sounded like a pig. And looks like one, too, he thought distantly. 

“Like that, do you?” Then his meaty hand suddenly slapped his face. He cried out when the beast slapped him again, harder. “I said, _did you like that, you slut?_ ”

The hand rose again, and he flinched away before he could stop himself. The beast’s eyes narrowed and his mouth drew up into an ugly snarl. “Fucking whore, don’t you run away from me,” he threatened, and slapped him across the face again. His face burned.

Then the beast’s fleshy hand pinched his nose and smothered his mouth, effectively trapping the air inside of him. For a second, all seemed fine, but then he was immediately seized with the burning need for air. His eyes watered and his chest felt too tight but there was no escape. He couldn’t breathe. His heart thumped madly, and blind panic overtook him and he tried to lash out, but he was no match for the beast’s overwhelming weight. Bane, he pleaded. Bane. Bane. BaneBaneBane _Bane_. 

He bit the soft flesh covering his mouth as hard as he could. 

With a howl, the beast immediately released him and hit him harder than he had before. “You fucking little bitch!” he snarled and kicked him while his head was still ringing from the blow. The beast threw a nearby vase at him and it shattered on the floor and kicked his ribs. He lost track of how many blows the beast delivered, but smiled in morbid satisfaction when he saw that the hand he’d bitten was torn bloody. 

Then he was kicked in the head and he fell into darkness.

:::

Bane asked for him a week after the incident. He never liked the days when he didn’t see Bane, but for once he was grateful that Bane didn’t see the immediate aftermath of his beating. A week, however, had not been enough for the worst of his bruises and cuts to fade away.   
When Bane stepped into the room and saw his battered face, his eyes first widened in shock and then narrowed in anger. He stalked to the bed and grasped his arm. His grip was gentle but unyielding. “Who did this?” he demanded. His eyes were intent and blazing with anger.

He shrugged and looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I bit him.” He said the last bit with fierce pride, and he knew that his eyes were wild. But he still wanted to curl up under his covers and will the memories of the beast away.

Bane’s eyes narrowed but released his arm. Instead of laying his head on his lap as usual, he sat on the bed and carefully gathered him in his arms. He didn’t ask for a song, but instead freely gave his stories. And for the next few hours, as he leaned in those protective arms and listened, he was able to forget.

Before he left, Bane stroked two fingers across his and said, “I am proud of you, my fierce little bird.”

:::

He awoke to screams and gunshots. He scrambled out of his tiny cot and searched for some sort of weapon. His hands found a chair, and wielding it felt ridiculous, but he had nothing else. He smelled smoke coming through the crack below the door and another scream broke out through the night. His heart beat a rapid tempo against his chest, and cold sweat trickled down his neck. 

He heard strangely familiar steps approaching in heavy _thunks_ and he tensed for a fight as the door creaked open. He nearly dropped the chair in surprise when Bane stepped through. 

“Wh-why are—” he stammered. He was shocked that Bane found him; all of the boys were forbidden from sleeping in the rooms they worked in.

Bane unceremoniously tossed a bloody bundle onto his tiny bedside table. He stared at it in incomprehension, wondering what Bane had given him. 

“It is revenge,” Bane said, his voice dark and foreboding behind the mask. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the bundle was a pair of severed testes and three fat fingers. One of the fingers had a gaudy ring still attached to it, and he remembered how that ring had cut his cheek when Madame had slapped him.   
Bane offered his hand to him. A small part of him knew that he should feel horrified and flee, but the rest felt fierce satisfaction and hoped that the beast and Madame had felt pain beyond imagination as Bane tore them apart piece by piece. “You are mine now, little bird,” Bane said. “Mine, and mine only.” 

The promise filled him with warmth and security, and he grasped the outstretched hand without hesitation. 

“Yours,” he agreed.


End file.
